One-Shot Challenge Collection
by LunaStellaCat
Summary: This is a collection of one-shots for challenges. Please review. You'd maketh my day.
1. Into the Fire

He picked up on calm before the storm. As he was a man who lived alone in a small house, as Lyall understood it, his was the only opinion that mattered here. Except for the phantom called Abe Foley, he stayed quite alone in his small three bedroom house. He'd purchased this place because of Abe, and the real estate agent who tired of playing an old game had written over the deed in exchange for peace of mind.

Sitting in front of the fire in his armchair, Lyall drummed his fingers on the upholstery and stared into the depths of the flames. A devout Catholic man, he believed in the soul and confession, yet he didn't want to cross this line. Was it really worth it? Couldn't he simply live and let live and give life to the lie? Lies morphed into accepted truths, and there was no reason to fix whatever wasn't broken. If Remus believed he crossed paths with a dark stranger, what did it matter to his father?

The so-called truth stayed that way for thirty years. Remus wasn't any the wiser. Maybe he'd accepted what Lyall called his ailment. Lyall absentmindedly rubbed the side of his finger and played with the worn gold. His wife, Hope, had passed away from a Muggle illness called lupis fifteen years ago. She'd quit her job at the insurance agency and enjoyed a peaceful summer.

"Abe, it goes on the hook," said Lyall listlessly, pinching the bridge of his nose. An emerald green traveling cloak appeared to levitate on its own and hang itself in the coat hanger. Abe never said anything, though he spoke volumes, and they lived together quite harmoniously. Whenever Abe got a laugh from flushing the toilet while Lyall took a shower, Lyall wondered if his son would've thought this funny. "Thank you."

Abraham Foley put up with Lyall living in his place; this was not the other way around. After years of working with ghosts, and phantoms, and poltergeists, Lyall took comfort in the fact he remained a shy freak with a talent for getting on famously with the dead. Lyall took off his wedding ring, held it between his fingers, and studied it in the light.

It wasn't bone chilly in early November, but he stayed cold-natured. A man nearing seventy, he suffered from poor eyesight and crippling arthritis, and the cold really didn't ease things at the end of the day. When the door creaked open, seemingly of its own accord, Lyall reached for his wand. Visitors rarely showed up in the dead of night, and he wasn't home half the time because he was off visiting abandoned holdfasts, or castles, or manors.

"You know what angers me?" Remus stepped into the light and smiled a little when he jolted his old man. His tone, uncharacteristically harsh, came well deserved after Lyall revealed he'd buried a secret. Remus had found out last year, and he'd avoided his father at all costs. "You lied to me."

"Remus." Lyall had played this interaction back through his mind since Remus had left silence in his wake months ago.

"Over and over again," said Remus, making himself at home and sitting down on the couch. Although they had lived in many houses because they had to stay ahead of the secret getting out, Lyall always insisted his boy could come home. Because Remus had opted to be on his own since he turned seventeen, Lyall got an opportunity to put down roots.

When Remus was a small boy, almost five, Lyall had made the awful decision to challenge Fenrir Greyback at the Ministry of Magic, and he hadn't understood the gravity of his mistake until he found his boy's bedroom window open. Remus had nearly bled to death. Lyall had saved his life, but he'd wiped the boy's memory.

"And I heard the story from Newt Scamander." Remus's lined face contorted in rage. With his grey hair and lined face, Remus could've passed as a brother or close friend. "Not you."

"People do strange things for love," said Lyall, setting his ring on the coffee table. He shrugged, not knowing what else to say other than an honest answer. Remus's mother had known the truth from the beginning. Abe crocheted a bright orange blanket and clicked the hooks together, and Remus shook his head, not buying a word of this.

"Let me guess." Remus snatched his father's ring off the table for a distraction. It was a trinket, nothing more, and it certainly would never hold enough value as an heirloom. "I don't understand … not yet …"

"You don't have to believe in anything," said Lyall, knowing his son stayed away from religion and faith like one riddled with dragon pox, and Lyall respected this choice. "I said horrible things when I …I didn't know any better. And I will pay for that for the rest of my life, but I have never stopped loving you. I did this."

"Abraham, I'm not going to harm my father." Remus ducked when a crochet hook got aimed at his head. Remus, quick, caught the tool and set it on the table. "Perhaps it should've been you."

"Let's not go down that road, lest we both say something we shall regret," said Lyall, who usually controlled his temper well like Remus; he taught Remus a few mild mannered tricks. Whilst he readily took responsibility for the past, he wasn't going to sit here and bleed to death to beg for forgiveness. "What's done done is done. Either we get over it, or we don't. What do we do from here?"

Remus glanced at the floor.

Lyall got up and heaved a couple logs onto the fire and wiped his hands on his trousers. Lyall had told himself countless times he would've taken Remus's place for anything in the world. He deserved this, especially the months of silent treatment and cold shoulder, yet he refused to lie down. "Who are you?"

"A werewolf." His anger ebbing ever so slightly here, Remus met Lyall's eyes. "You're a coward."

"Me? Who left his pregnant wife to drown his sorrows at a pub?" Lyall actually laughed, and he was pleased to see Remus's smile, a rare sight these days, reached his eyes. Lyall inclined his head, lowering his voice. "Yeah, I heard about that. The point is … you decided to make choice after brushing yourself off. You don't know anything yet, Remus, but it'll start to sink in when you hold your son or your daughter in your arms."

Remus didn't say anything for a while, and they enjoyed the silence; they used to consider this quality time after Hope died. Abe set two glasses of wine on the table with a half-empty bottle and a tin of warm chocolate biscuits.

"You're not only my boy. You're one of my best friends, and maybe that's because we … I don't know, Remus." Lyall shrugged his shoulders and smiled a little when Remus opened the tin and helped himself to a few chocolate biscuits. "I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am."

"I'll get over it." Remus broke the silence after some time and crossed his legs. They used to tell each other everything. "I've others met others."

"Oh. Werewolves?" Relaxed and friendly, Lyall paced the room and listened to Abe's peaceful clinking. He listened as Remus discussed a group called the Order of the Phoenix and Lyall shared a story about falling up the steps at Leap Castle.

"That's talent. Are you all right?" Worry furrowed Remus's brow. They shared a laugh, and Lyall nodded. "You're getting old."

"Yes, but I really do enjoy my work. And the invisible housekeeper is nice company."

He jerked his head towards towards the unseen Abe and imagined the apparition shrugging his shoulders. He stroked his chin, thinking about working until he dropped dead. At some point his age would really catch up with him, and Lyall really needed to pass his knowledge on instead of scribbling in books. He'd become a good friend of old Newt Scamander's because they were both like minded weirdos who sought comfort in uniqueness, and Lyall couldn't and wouldn't serve the magical community if he wasn't altogether there.

"When you die, have you considered hanging around with Abe?"

"And haunting places together?" The sides of Lyall's mouth twitched. Whenever he went to sleep for the last time, and he truly hoped to follow the natural order of things and go before Remus, he wished to stay at rest. "Death is lonely, but it's not really comforting to be stuck because here and there. Your mother and I had this conversation."

"Before she died?"

Lyall nodded.

Draining his first glass and pouring another, Remus rode on the liquid courage and apologized for the coward remark. He'd said it in the heat of the moment and wanted to make a statement, for he simply wanted to be heard, and Lyall waved his apology away. Remus wasn't going to forgive him today, and Lyall saw this as perfectly all right because they had to start somewhere.

A/N: Written for the Father's Day Challenge 2017 for the Golden Snitch. **House** : Hogwarts, Hufflepuff LunaStellaCat

 **Prompts** : (emotion) love, (object) ring, (colour) bright orange, (colour) emerald green, (word) heirloom, (character) Fenrir Greyback, (word) lupis, (word) freak

 **Character** : Lyall Lupin

100 points (posted within 48 hours)


	2. Libby

**Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges and Assignments)**

 **House** : Hufflepuff

 **Prompts** : Minerva/Elphinstone (pairing), Adoption (word), Draco Malfoy (character), 'Big Girls Don't Cry' by Sia (song), aquamarine (color), Tragedy (genre)!

 **Assignment 4** : Astrology & Horoscopes.

 **#3. Earth Task (Taurus): Write about someone sticking by/defending a person who did something wrong.**

 **Words** : 4107. ( I went over a little. Just a little. 😆)

"Libby"

The house-elf let them sleep in on the weekends. Elphinstone marked her as an equal, which completely threw Libby the house-elf for a loop for the longest time, but the old man delighted in the confusion on her face; he enjoyed the small things in life and took things at a slower pace since retirement. After years of sleeping in a bedroom with a stone floor and sparse surroundings, Minerva still found it strange waking up next to her oldest friend every morning.

"Saturday. No school." Elphinstone rolled over on his side and accidentally knocked over things on the beside cabinet. It had been two weeks since his last treatment with the Venomous Tentacula antidote, and he'd made the call on spending his time at the cottage.

Minerva chose not to think of this as the time he had left, yet they both knew why the Healers had agreed to this stipulation. There was nothing they could do for the old man. The staff at St. Mungo's, especially Minerva's nephew, Kristopher, grew close to Elphinstone over the last six months, and a few matrons argued against home health care, but in the end it wasn't their decision.

Leaving the bathroom door open, Minerva rushed through her morning tasks and listened to Elphinstone talk with Libby. Libby had served Minerva since she'd come back to the school almost thirty years ago, and she wasn't going to leave the professor's side. Libby kept on with her regular duties at the school, too. When Elphinstone fell ill, Libby begged Professor Dumbledore to let her tend to Minerva and Elphinstone in the cottage, and the headmaster agreed whole-heartedly.

Things changed drastically in the blink of an eye. This time last year, they'd celebrated their second anniversary in Caithness, and they enjoyed traveling around Scotland on the weekends. Although Minerva couldn't cook or bake to save her life, Elphinstone had put in work in the kitchen put on a little weight. You couldn't see it nowadays. With his sunken eyes and weak frame, he was nothing more than skin and bones. As the venom took effect, he lost control of motor skills and suffered injuries easily. Libby cleaned up his mess in the bedroom without the slightest complaint and went to make breakfast.

Minerva pinned her hair back, grabbed a pill cup, and tipped mediations into her hand. He needed a green one, two of the horse pills, and one of the orange and grey ones. She had no idea what half these things did. Minerva followed Kristopher's weekly advice about the magical pill organizer; it refilled itself every few hours. Elphinstone took them in one go.

"What's that face?" Elphinstone grabbed the walking stick and offered her his hand.

"Nothing." Minerva examined his hand and turned it over. He winced at her touch, especially when she gingerly fingered the bruise on his wrist creeping up his arm, and Minerva felt a crippling worry sink in. It hadn't been there yesterday. Elphinstone leaned in and lifted her chin when she let him go. "This is simply my face."

"Poor Kit … Kristopher is my personal drug dealer." Elphinstone drank the water to get rid of any unpleasant aftertaste.

"You can call him Kit," she said, not really listening. "He likes it."

"You act like I don't know you," he said, the sides of his mouth twitching slightly.

Minerva helped him change into comfortable clothing and get through his morning to-do list. They had no children of their own, and she knew Elphinstone felt like a small child, despite the fact he rarely said a word of complaint. Another bruise appeared on his chest, a mark she hadn't recognized the night before, although she knew this was her fault. He used to be such a strong man, a pillar in the Ministry of Magic. For almost forty-three years, he'd devoted his life to the law and civil service. A plant, a treasure in one of the Hogwarts greenhouses, defeated him.

"You're allowed to get angry." Elphinstone slipped on his watch and the titanium ring with an inlaid aquamarine stone; he wore a plain titanium wedding band on his other hand. His birthday was in February, February twenty-ninth, but he hated purple, and his friends and family usually celebrated his birthday on March first, except for those years when his birthday came round every four years.

Instead of burdening him with her fears and doubts, Minerva leaned in and stroked his face. He relaxed, dropped the walking stick, and kissed her passionately, As their lips touched, Minerva remembered the first time he'd kissed her on some cold December evening in London. She'd hardly known him in the early fifties, yet Elphinstone clung to a hope.

"That's a nice way to start the day." Elphinstone tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. He always asked her to wear her hair down, but Minerva never did. She took it down at night. They both turned their heads when someone knocked on the door. Sighing heavily. Elphinstone got to his feet, picked up his walking stick, and went down the corridor.

Minerva went into the bedroom across the corridor and made Libby's bed. If they insisted on hired help, Elphinstone had said, Libby was damn well going to be treated as a special houseguest. Minerva, who didn't really grasp why wizards and wizards needed servitude, always valued Libby's company and friendship. She pulled the sheets and the comforter tight and placed Libby's books on the bedside table.

"Professor McGonagall." The house-elf stopped herself from asking permission to step inside her own bedroom. Minerva stacked the books. "Master Elphinstone is speaking with a guest, Mr. Malfoy, and he asked Libby to come find Professor McGonagall."

"What is it, Libby?" Minerva noticed the house-elf shook like a wounded animal. She set a black bound book aside and offered the house-elf a hand. They went into the sitting room together. Although witches and witches could treat house-elves however they wished, neither Minerva nor Elphinstone would ever raise a hand to Libby, so Minerva found this cowering strange. "Mr. Malfoy."

Lucius Malfoy brushed his blonde hair out of his eyes. He stood there with a small boy, his son, and he leaned on a polished walking stick, although he clearly didn't need one. The boy glanced at his father and mirrored his expression. He couldn't have been more than four or five, Minerva guessed, but he acted like he came from privilege. Lucius Malfoy hadn't done much since You-Know-Who's downfall, so he wanted something if he came out of the shadows.

"I want my house-elf's mother as part of my estate." Getting right to the point, crisp and businesslike, Lucius sat on the leather couch and jerked his head at Libby before turning back to Elphinstone. "Dobby is my property, and I expect to have him properly trained. You will give me that elf."

"I think you'll find I don't have to do a damn thing," said Elphinstone.

Elphinstone took his smoking pipe out of his jacket, stuck it between his teeth, and lit it with his wand. He slipped curse words into casual conversation, and he didn't think twice about correcting himself. Lucius Malfoy could have easily knocked him down, yet Elphinstone stood his ground. Minerva fought a smile. Underneath all the weakness and signs of decay, the learned, confident estates lawyer still peeked through. Elphinstone leaned heavily on his good leg, and it started shaking uncontrollably. He almost fell, catching himself on the arm of the couch. Minerva rushed over to help him, but he shook his head, silently telling her he didn't need her help.

"Old man, house-elves are passed down through families. I understand your family came from new money. And your wife didn't bother to take your name."

"Mr. Malfoy." Minerva met his blank expression with a cold stare. She placed a reassuring hand on Libby's shoulder.

"I practiced estate law for forty some years." Elphinstone puffed on his pipe and raised an eyebrow, clearly losing patience. He tapped his shaking foot. Malfoy's son, Draco, merely looked bored and sat beside his father after Elphinstone offered the boy a seat. "Libby isn't going anywhere."

"You think so?" Malfoy scoffed, taking in the state of the humble home. He walked over and fingered the old Slytherin scarf and the Mackintosh hanging on one of the hooks by the door. "You worked like a slave for the government, and this is all you got out of it? Why do you even need a house-elf?"

"I walked away from the family money to actually enjoy a weekend. How stupid of me!" Elphinstone's family hadn't been one of the prominent pure blood ones, but his longtime clients like Abraxas Malfoy and Theodore Nott assumed he followed the mainstream bias against Muggles. Elphinstone pounded his chest and coughed a little. "Do you even know what a weekend is, Mr. Malfoy? Libby, I'm cold."

"Yes, Master Elphinstone." Forgetting her fear, Libby built a fire and went to fetch thick socks from the washing machine. She cast a Heating Charm on these with her magic and grinned at him as she helped him sit down in his armchair.

Elphinstone set his shoes off to the side and let Libby pull on his socks. "Thank you."

"Of course. That's why Libby is here," said the house-elf.

"You let the house-elf handle clothes! What a disgrace to her kind! You freed the elf?" Lucius snorted in disgust. He got to his feet and grabbed his boy by the arm. "How stupid are you? Don't you realize you stole Hogwarts property? I am a governor of the school …"

"Libby came to Hogwarts as a dutiful house-elf, but she is freed now since two months ago because Master Elphinstone needed help. Libby went to fetch his Mackintosh." The house-elf pointed at the raincoat and wiped her hands on her Hogwarts toga. She grew steadily confident and grinned at Elphinstone, stealing his line. "Nothing's changed. Libby respectfully declines to acquiesce Mr. Malfoy's request."

Mr. Malfoy looked as though he would very much like to strike the house-elf. Minerva, impressed, raised her eyebrows. Elphinstone actually laughed.

Elphinstone closed his eyes, annoyed and suffering, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's a no, Lucius."

"You're not a lawyer anymore, Elphinstone," said Mr. Malfoy. He turned to Minerva. "Someone stole from my elf and gave it to you. If you knew this, and it sounds like you did, that makes you a thief and a liar, Professor McGonagall. And I will take you to court."

"You threatening legal action over an estate is like threatening a sleeping dragon, sir, for you do not want this fight. I promise you. You will not threaten my wife, sir," said Elphinstone. He tried to get up, but his leg gave out, and he fell back in the chair. He dropped his pipe. It extinguished itself.

"My father has given donations to the Ministry," said Mr. Malfoy, his teeth bared.

"Aye, gold, I don't doubt it. Kind of your daddy," Elphinstone muttered. He rubbed his hands together, an excited gleam in his eye Minerva hadn't caught since he'd fallen ill. "I look forward to your complaint, sir, and I wish you luck in finding a lawyer who would dare challenge me! The game is on."

"Elphinstone." Minerva quelled him with a look. "I did not steal your property, Mr. Malfoy, but you seem to misunderstand that a servant and a slave are not the same thing. Libby is not yours. You may leave."

"Come on, Draco." Mr. Malfoy got his son and left with a swish of his traveling cloak. The boy actually waved goodbye to Elphinstone.

Minerva locked the door. Libby went to go busy herself with her task. Minerva crossed her arms, stuck somewhere between irritation and admiration. Elphinstone beckoned to her with a finger and she sat on his lap; his leg remained still. They said nothing for a while, lost in each their private thoughts, and they linked their fingers together. Elphinstone reached up and took Minerva's hair down.

"You should really keep your hands to yourself, sir."

"Libby isn't a servant," he said, running his hands through her long hair. He always insisted she wear it down. "It's damp. You realize you can catch cold or pneumonia going out like this?"

"Why are you worried about me? You're warm. No, you're burning up!" How had she not noticed this before? Minerva held the back of her hand to his forehead when she noticed the beads of sweat. She conjured a compress and wiped his face. She helped him into the bathroom and poured a steaming bath. Elphinstone played with the taps with his feet, and the bathtub filled itself with large purple and blue bubbles. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"So you could've rushed me to St. Mungo's on a Friday night? And pulled Kristopher away from his Magpie Quidditch match? No, thank you! I enjoyed spending my time like this." He reached up and touched her face with a soapy hand. They shared a passionate kiss. Elphinstone picked up on something. "Oh, that means you've caught whatever this is, too."

"Fool." Minerva helped him out of the bath and into the bed. Libby placed warming pans under the sheets. Elphinstone pulled off the socks and set them on his shoes. The house-elf snapped her long fingers and conjured a laden tray. "Thank you, Libby."

"Not at all," said Libby, bowing to her and Elphinstone. "Libby has to head to Hogwarts, but Libby wants to know if she … if she has to go back to Mr. Malfoy."

"To Lucius Malfoy? No." Elphinstone slid a fried egg and tomatoes onto toast. He stopped, apparently lost in thought. "There was a house-elf in Abraxas's will if I remember correctly. What's your son's name?"

"Dobby, sir." Libby stood stock still beside the bed. Her ears flopped. "And a house-elf's family belongs to the family they serves, Master Elphinstone. Because that's house-elf law. Libby arrived at Hogwarts in 1956 escorted by Mr. Abraxas and …"

"… you followed me into the library while I did research for Professor Dumbledore," said Minerva.

Pacing the bedroom, Minerva sipped a glass of orange juice as the memory came back clear as day. Minerva had been a teacher back in those days, and Professor Dumbledore was head of the Transfiguration department. A Professor got assigned a house-elf to attend to him or her. Libby nodded vigorously, her ears flapping.

"I…I stole you?" Minerva wiped her forehead and showed Elphinstone the evidence. "I haven't missed a day of work in ages, and if I'm down on Monday, it's because of you."

"It's worth it." Elphinstone took his coffee black because it was much stronger than tea to get him going in the mornings. He waved his toast in the air, getting back on track. Libby fetched him parchment, quill, and ink along with his round of pain reliever potions. As he was nearly seventy, the Healers took his age into account with their plan of attack, and he sat here planning a defense. "Help me."

"I haven't cracked a law book since I was twenty." Minerva knit her eyebrows together. Elphinstone snorted. "Elphinstone, that was almost thirty years ago! Come on."

"Your fiftieth birthday. It should be fun. How do you like black roses?" Conversational and light, he ducked when she tossed a pillow at him. It hit the wall.

"That's the goal? My fiftieth birthday?" Minerva sighed when he nodded. He enjoyed a healthy appetite this morning, yet Minerva doubted he'd be able to keep it down with the stronger medications and potions this afternoon. Libby tended to the fire and went to start the laundry before heading off to help the other house-elves at Hogwarts. Clothes really didn't bother her, as she was a free elf, but she wore the Hogwarts toga around her peers to fit in. "Libby's more than a house-elf. Do you know who horrified my father would be learning I have a servant?"

"She's not a servant if you don't pay her." Elphinstone dipped his quill in ink and started brainstorming.

"I pay her a Galleon a a Sickle a week, thank you very much," said Minerva.

"Ooooh," said Elphinstone, jotting notes in a fine script.

"She wouldn't take anymore," said Minerva crossly. Elphinstone winked at her. "She likes the books and the butterscotch and chocolate sweets you give her. Those are nice. Thank you."

"She's got value, too. Same as everyone else." Elphinstone shrugged this off like it was nothing. Minerva set the tray aside on her side of the bed and massaged his neck and shoulders. "That feels good. Who taught you to do this?"

"Kristopher. He says it relieves the tension." Minerva moved her fingers in circles and sighed when Elphinstone closed his eyes at her touch. "Elphinstone."

"Hmmmm?"

"Don't give up yet. If you need to go after Malfoy to keep going or celebrating me turning fifty," she said, her nostrils flaring. Minerva found she possessed a newfound dislike for this milestone. "It's fine. Stay with me."

"Minerva." Elphinstone sounded way past exhausted.

"Kristopher says they are considering the adoption of new rules for some clinical trial," she said, saying this in a rush.

"Minerva, dearie, we've discussed this. I'm dying, and I've made peace with that. If that's two days or two years from now, I'm all right with it." Elphinstone turned his head, and Minerva blinked furiously. "Is this the part where you rage at me and call me a list of names? Ah, see? There's the look."

"The look?" Minerva rested her hands on his shoulders.

"The Elphinstone Urquart is a complete idiot look." Elphinstone mirrored a glare and his lips fell into a severe line. Minerva clapped him on the shoulders before she laid in his arms. She surrendered to the comforting smell of tobacco and Old Spice. "I bet your students hate that. Oh. Come on! You're not insulting me simply because Death's not at my door?"

"Death's not a person. Unless you're reading 'The Three Brothers' or 'The Pardoner's Tale'. That's a Muggle story." She added the last part, thinking he wouldn't catch the reference. Elphinstone got comfortable in bed and rested his hands on her hips. It started reading outside. She considered life without him. Guilt and grief caught in her throat. "Elphinstone?"

"Hmmmm?" After taking a heavy sleeping solution, he sounded somewhere far away, caught between sleep and wakefulness. The Healers advised him to take pain relievers whenever he wished. He sleep throughout the day. "When's Kristopher coming over?"

"Three-thirty. I'll remind you."

"Right. Thank you." He snapped his fingers, trying to remember something and struggled to string a sentence together. "This stuff…this sleeping solution stuff…"

"The Lotus Leaf?" Minerva picked up his notes and started reading through them. "Is it good?"

"Stuff is …. makes you feel like …"Elphinstone slipped away fast. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Go to sleep. Rest now, my love."

Minerva smiled softly when Elphinstone passed out. She picked up the quill, made a note to ask Kristopher or Poppy Promfrey for Lotus Leaf. At the end of his notes, Elphinstone had drafted a recipe for butterscotch pie. Thinking Elphinstone decided to treat Libby, Minerva copied the receipt carefully before she ripped off a sheaf of parchment. She scribbled a hurried note for her husband, pulled on the Mackintosh when she got into the sitting room, grabbed Elphinstone's Slytherin scarf, and stepped out into the rain without an umbrella.

After gathering ingredients at a shop for the dessert in a basket an hour later, Minerva headed to Hogwarts. She stopped outside of the gates and broke down. She didn't need Elphinstone. She could've chosen not to marry him and continued on with whatever they were. Minerva rarely got a minute to herself, and while she handled work and everything else, Elphinstone had fallen in the bathroom last Thursday and she hadn't been there.

She barely made it to the headmaster's office. The gargoyle didn't move because she made no sense. She screamed. Professor Dumbledore came out, looked right and left, gathered her basket and it's spilled contents, and helped her into his circular office. The portraits lining the walls broke into shattered conversations and some of them wore sympathetic looks.

"Sit down." Professor Dumbledore didn't bothering asking what was wrong because Minerva only talked to him and the barman at the Three Broomsticks. After setting the basket aside, he tapped his wand on the desk. Tea and Ginger Newts appeared there. He handed Minerva a handkerchief, sat down behind his desk, and waited patiently. "You've switched teams and you're going to burn down Elphinstone's cottage?"

Minerva dabbed her eyes and gathered herself, taking deep, steading breaths. She gave a watery chuckle.

"No?" Dumbledore linked his fingers together. "I do sincerely hope he has homeowners insurance. What is it?"

"He's wearing me down. I love him, and I would do anything for Elphinstone, but he doesn't want to be stuck on a ward. You know him." Minerva continued when Dumbledore nodded. "He's … he's my best friend, and he needs me, and Lucius Malfoy wants to sue me over Libby."

Dumbledore beamed at her, delighted she mentioned this. "Lucius came to see me."

"Did he?" Minerva sat up straighter when Dumbledore nodded again. Minerva breathed through her nose and out through her mouth, though this took a while to work. Coherent thought failed her. "Well, that's … he can't … who's going to sue a dying man over a house-elf? And Elphinstone Urquart? Are you kidding me? Elphinstone's going to destroy him without even trying."

"I look forward to reading the transcript. Find a scribe with a sense of humor because I need a good read." Dumbledore nibbled on a biscuit and checked out the basket. "Butterscotch pie? That'll be a lovely disaster. You've got Kristopher at your beck and call, don't you?"

"Elphinstone's making it," said Minerva. She crossed her legs, feeling a weight fall off her shoulders. She felt better talking to Professor Dumbledore.

"He sounds lovely, your brilliant Scottish housewife." Professor Dumbledore shuffled the papers on his desk and showed her lesson plans for Transfiguration classes. "I've got this. You don't worry."

"I haven't got enough leave," she said, feeling a tickle in her throat. Minerva shook her head vehemently because she refused to add to his already hectic schedule.

"You haven't taken more than a day and a half, Minerva, you're fine. I checked." Professor Dumbledore paid no heed to her excuses. "Minerva?"

"Yes?" She stopped.

"If the roles were reversed, you'd tell me to be with my person. Hogwarts won't fall down without you, I promise you! I did teach this post before you, you know." Dumbledore clearly wasn't taking no for an answer. Minerva blinked furiously. "If you run out of leave, and you won't, take mine."

"Albus."

"You step in for me and I don't even have to ask because you're an excellent work wife." Dumbledore chuckled when Minerva frowned at him. He shrugged. "Aberforth calls you that. It fits."

"I'm flattered?" Minerva hesitated, not really knowing how to answer this. She gathered her things and got to her feet. She walked towards the door. "When Charlie Weasley asks you if he can play as substitute Chaser next Saturday, you ask him where my essay is. On the Switching Spell."

"Oh, but Gryffindor needs to win against Slytherin," said Dumbledore, waving away this empty threat. Minerva sighed, reconsidering this. The headmaster enjoyed this immensely. "You really don't know what to do. Dear me."

"That sounds like a problem, not mine," she said, feeling lighter than she had in days.

Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively and pointed at her scarf. "Which team will you support, I wonder?"

"Why is that even a question?" Minerva shifted the basket. It was her job as a wife to anger her husband half the time; her father had shared this nugget of advice on her wedding day. She shook her head. "I can't believe I married a Slytherin. He's brilliant and everything…"

"He's your person," said Dumbledore simply. "It's the simple, small things. It took you long enough to figure out he's your other half. Your husband's probably waiting for you."

Minerva thanked him again. If Dumbledore wasn't going to worry about Libby, she felt fine about setting this on the back burner. She headed home.


	3. Libby, Chapter Two

He started at square one. Elphinstone Urquart always started at the beginning, and frankly, it saved him towards the end of his career. During the war, he hardly wavered, and whenever he made a wrong move, he at least bothered to fess up to his mistakes. He learned from his mistakes, too, which is why his clients returned to him. He catered to the downtrodden, the broken, and those who sought to make change. The man landed two landmark cases in the length of his long career.

Minerva never expected to walk back into the Ministry of Magic. Instead of returning to London and settling things in the city, Elphinstone decided to made a house call and appeared with Minerva next to Malfoy Manor late one afternoon . Out of respect for his father, Lucius said, he invited them to dinner. They sat a large table with a handsome spread; it reminded Minerva of a Hogwarts feast. Libby came along dressed in a simple blouse and a pressed skirt. At their home, she would've sat at table, and Mr. Malfoy sneered at her as the Sunday roast sliced itself. A young house-elf, Dobby, stood like a statue, there and unseen in the background.

"He understands a proper place," said Mr. Malfoy, snapping his fingers at the female. house-elf. Libby, her eyes darting towards the door, acted as though she wished to be anywhere but here; she didn't sit at a table with equals in the eyes of this man and crossed an invisible line. Mr. Malfoy got up and excused himself when his wife appeared.

"Well, this is the coldest invitation I've ever received," muttered Elphinstone, sipping his wine. He used to have dinner with important clients all of the time, and Abraxas Malfoy used to be quite welcoming. "The curtesy of Malfoy Manor lacks of late. Does everyone feel as though they perhaps shouldn't be here because they took a wrong turn?"

Neither Minerva nor Libby answered him. Libby let her son serve her. In contrast to Libby's impeccably clean clothes, Dobby wore the mark of a house-elf, a crisp pillow case. He accidentally bumped into her, and he stained the white table cloth; red bled into the white. Acting like this happened everyday, Libby, jumping to her feet, stripped the table with one fluid movement, and she slipped casually into a role she would've taken at Hogwarts Castle.

"It is not Miss's place," said Dobby, horrified, his lips barely moving.

He shook like a wounded animal, fearing whatever retaliation Mr. Malfoy had in store. Dobby went off to punish himself, and though they could not see him, Minerva and Elphinstone winced at his screams. Blocking this out and concentrating on the task before her, Libby cast quick household spells and a fresh tablecloth laid itself onto the surface as plates. glasses, platters, and silverware reorganized themselves. Libby bowed at Elphinstone, went into washing room, and returned with Dobby. Minerva supposed the house-elf never forgot the place because she'd started here.

"These people is people," she said, conjuring a kit and sitting in the corner. A knot formed in Minerva's stomach and she lost her appetite.

"Master and Mistress is not people." Dobby's ears flopped as he shook his head vigorously, disagreeing with her. Elphinstone stole looks and rested his chin on his palm, mildly interested and detached for the moment.

"They is," said Libby sadly, working quickly. She nodded at Minerva and Elphinstone. Libby had a kinder master than Lucius even before she landed a job at Hogwarts. "Professor McGonagall teaches Transfiguration and Master Elphinstone practices law."

"He practiced law," corrected Elphinstone.

"You is still reading law journals and cases," pointed out Libby. Minerva smiled, shaking a napkin and setting it in her lap.

Elphinstone shrugged, taking this. Elphinstone read by paragraphs or pages, whereas most people, including Minerva, went word by word. He also possessed a photographic memory, a little known secret he rarely shared with his clients, though it certainly came in hardy. He might have walked away, but he kept collections of Corpus Jurisprudence and Annex Annals; these subscriptions cost a pretty penny.

"He isn't Miss's friend," said Dobby, flexing his fingers. "He is your lord and master…."

"Libby or Mama," said Libby, acutely aware Dobby didn't know what to call her. "Pick one."

Dobby opted for silence. As Minerva understood it, for she'd only recently learned about house-elf society, when house-elves had children, the elves were either trained under their mother or father or they got sold into the House-Elf Relocation Program in some lottery. She found it barbaric. Libby got out by chance, pure chance, and she stayed within the lines.

"Kloves says Libby is referring to herself as Elizabeth. You is Miss Elizabeth," said Dobby, bowing low to his mother.

Libby grinned, a little pep in her step, and followed him into the kitchen.

"Elizabeth?" Elphinstone wiped his bifocals with a handkerchief. "Way to push feminism onto to a house-elf, dearie. She's Elizabeth. Just Libby. Kloves is Libby's partner?"

"He's here somewhere," said Minerva, unabashed.

Minerva had never met Kloves. Masters and mistress named their house-elves; they watched their behavior and named them accordingly. Libby had left Minerva's service for a short time five years ago, and now she thought of it, it dawned on Minerva that it must have been terrifying to return to this hell to hand over her son, especially since the house-elf returned to work like nothing happened.

Minerva turned to her husband. "Tell me more of property law."

"I'm no expert on the House-elf Relocation Program."

"Elphinstone," she said, patting him on the arm warningly. Lucius returned. Libby came back, saying she'd take over for dinner service.

"Shouldn't you change?" Lucius sneered, gesturing at her attire. Libby, ignoring him, draped a cloth over her thin arm and served the next course. Dobby shuffled back in and kept his eyes on his mother. Lucius, taking this to mean Minerva or Elphinstone took him up on his so-called offer, relaxed and took control. "How long is she here for? Elf, I am your master."

"No. No." Minerva set her hands in her lap. Her eyes flashed dangerously behind her rectangular spectacles. "You are not."

Lucius, instantly angry, pounded the table with his fist, intent on frightening Libby into submission. "I am your lord and master!"

"Her lord and master?" Elphinstone set down his utensils, his tone still light and conversational. "The last time we had a lord, we found ourselves in a world of hurt for eleven years."

Lucius Malfoy considered him with the utmost dislike.

"Libby has no lord or master, Mr. Malfoy." Libby refilled Lucius's glass. Raising his hand when the house-elf brushed against him, Lucius struck her hard with the back of his hand. Libby, genuinely shocked, backed off, splattering her clothes with red wine. Minerva's hand flew to her mouth. Elphinstone, cursing, grabbed his walking stick and bent awkwardly over Libby, and Lucius laughed. "A cripple and a house-elf."

"Back off." Elphinstone turned his wand on Lucius, his arm quite steady. Lucius went on eating. Elphinstone helped Libby to her feet and handed over his handkerchief. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, Libby is fine." Libby, embarrassed, gathered herself and went on to serve another course and dessert.

Minerva, already running through possible lawyers in her head, took compromise off the table. Elphinstone, calm as ever, masked his anger and disappointment, but she could tell he went along the same lines. He zoned out when he thought hard. Elphinstone sat down againsnd wrote notes on a napkin, discussing Lucius's father, locking the man into a false sense of security. When they finished, Elphinstone packed away a dessert like takeaway and offered the man a hand.

"Dobby, show the elf to her quarters," said Lucius.

"Mr. Malfoy, you are a clueless idiot and an asshole. What a dangerous combination! How dare you take anything from me? Not today." Elphinstone handed Libby the dessert.

" ," said Lucius, not backing down.

"We'll be leaving, Mr. Malfoy. Malfoy Manor used to be lovely. Shame." Elphinstone would make house calls to draft and review wills for his clients back in the day. "Which is your place, sir, and which is not? Hands off what's not yours. See you in court."

Mr. Malfoy stared at him, speechless.

"Good night, Mr. Malfoy," said Minerva, placing her hand on Libby's shoulder.

Libby shuffled her feet when she stopped in front of Dobby. Dobby walked them to the door. The two wallowed in an awkward moment, not sure what to do, when Libby finally reached in her pocket and handed Dobby a handful of butterscotch sweets she'd received from Elphinstone earlier that day. Libby hugged him. Dobby, panic-stricken, completely at a loss, resembled a statue or someone in a petrified state.

"Dobby is not nothing. If he can get a chance to get out, Libby suggests he take it." Libby handed him a Galleon, a share of her savings. He stared at it, and then ever so slowly, the smaller house-elf pocketed it. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye Mr. Urquart, Professor McGonagall … and miss." Dobby fumbled with the doorknob with his injured hands.

They left. Elphinstone, smiling serenely, promised Libby he would find a way out of this fix one way or another. Minerva had actually considered buying Libby, but Elphinstone had shot this idea down, saying there were property deeds going back generations, and there was little to no doubt Libby's family belonged to the Malfoy family. When they Disapparated and Appararated back home, Elphinstone took the box back and showed Libby a large slice of chocolate cake. He opened the silverware drawer, stuck a fork in the dessert, and gave it back to her.

"I've another gift for you." Elphinstone swore left, right, and centre he'd never wanted children, yet he treated Libby like a prized ward.

"Master Elphinstone shouldn't have," said the house-elf.

"Elphinstone doesn't know what that means," said Minerva. She shared a laugh with her husband. Elphinstone shrugged. Minerva had accepted and returned gifts for years. "It's easier if you say yes."

Elphinstone turned his head so fast Minerva would have guessed he suffered from whiplash. "Really?"

Minerva found the box in the cupboard. Libby opened it with trembling fingers and found a hat with holes for her ears inside. Beaming, she hugged them both, thanking them over and over again, and she rushed to place it in her bedroom. Elphinstone shook his finger, disapprovingly, tutting, and placed the beautiful hat on a hook by Minerva's emerald-green traveling cloak. If she needed a dose of courage when they went to court, she had it, for she was officially adopted into this family. Libby thanked him over and over before she went into her bedroom Minerva hugged Elphinstone from behind.

"He's a miracle worker, that husband of mine." Minerva pecked him on his sunken cheek and imagined him as the man from fifteen years ago. It took a long while for her to fall for him and realize she'd made out.

Elphinstone sighed. "I haven't even started working yet. Don't get excited."

"You're not going to be stupid enough to try this yourself?" Minerva made coffee and carried the tray into the sitting room and laid it on the coffee table. Back when she was a law student briefly under Elphinstone's tutelage, he'd said the stupidest thing a man could do was represent himself when he could comfortably afford legal counsel. There was always a public defender. She gave Elphinstone his nighttime potions, and he shook his head. "I thought so."

"I want to add Libby to my will," he said.

"Can you gift property to property?" Minerva hated the harshness of the reality here, but it was a legitimate question. She didn't care what Elphinstone did with his estate, and she honestly didn't know how much he was worth. The sapphire wedding band she'd received on her wedding day gave her an idea. He'd given her the matching earrings and pendent on their second anniversary.

"People hand over their estates to their pets all the time."

Minerva drafted a will when she was eighteen because Elphinstone insisted everyone on his team go through the motions. How were they supposed to understand their clients if they didn't walk in their shoes? She'd drafted it again and again, but Minerva hadn't bothered to get the thing finalized or witnessed. It was a piece of paper and nothing more. Long before she entered into the picture, Elphinstone would have had his things in order. He pulled her close.

"You'll be fine, dearie," he said, placing a hand underneath her chin. They kissed.

"I don't want to take about this," she said, pulling away. Her jaw set, she nodded, convinced she made the right decision.

"When?" Elphinstone found comfort in preparing for the future; he'd planned their life together and made adjustments when she kept in waiting. "Three weeks. That's what Kristopher said, Minerva, two months if we're lucky, and I am not begging for time. I'll go downhill. Are we going to talk about it when I'm on my deathbed and you're feeding me like a toddler?"

"Elphinstone. Please." Minerva blinked furiously, determined not to fall to pieces in front of him. Elphinstone cursed. He kissed her and rested a hand on her lap. She kissed him back. "Not like this. What do you want?"

"After all this time? You need a definition?" He breathed in her ear. "I want my wife. My bonnie Scottish girl."

"Elphinstone."

Minerva her guard down with him and went easy him because there was no point in arguing over nothing, yet it bothered her when he got buried in distractions. She wondered if Kristopher had slipped him some potion to wind back the clock. She turned when a visitor knocked on their door and got to her feet. Kristopher, a tall man with dark locks and blue eyes, stood there. Instead of wearing his usual lime green robes because they caught him in between marathon shifts at hospital, he wore jeans and a turtleneck.

"Kit." Minerva stepped aside, letting him in. Kristopher was the only one of her nieces or nephews with a key. He never used it.

Kristopher, carrying a rucksack and a physician's bag he'd gotten from his grandfather over his shoulder, stepped over the threshold after giving his aunt a one-armed hug. Libby took his things and stowed them in her bedroom. Although she offered up her bedroom willingly, he never took it, so Libby conjured a stack of blankets and pillows. Kristopher sat next to Elphinstone and patted the bed things.

"I'm sleeping over," said Kristopher warmly, inviting himself over.

"You don't say!" Elphinstone, beaming, smirked at him. "How's life and the wife?"

"I put in ninety hours this week. Poppy pointed out I might be paying for a house neither of us will never live in." Kristopher grinned when Minerva shook her head. Kristopher had been married to the beautiful and blonde Poppy Pomfrey for three years. Kristopher chased after his life and neither of them had time for settling down. Libby handed him a beer and told him to make himself at home. "What's new?"

"Your aunt's a thief." Elphinstone sighed as Kristopher went through his regular health check routine. Kristopher checked his pulse, injected a syringe of anti-venom into his arm, and placed a stethoscope on his chest. "You know, Kit, usually I take a girl out of a few drinks before we get this comfortable. You're pretty."

Minerva crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. "I am no thief."

"I'm taken, uncle, end besides people talk." Kristopher fingered his wedding band and packed his bag. Elphinstone burst out laughing. "You're still alive."

"Better than the alternative," sighed Elphinstone. Kristopher scribbled notes.

"My favorite question." Kristopher rubbed his hands together when Libby returned from the kitchen with a hearty leftover beef stew and homemade dinner rolls. "On a scale of one to five, how are we doing?"

"Three." Elphinstone went with the truth, and Kristopher, optimistic and bubbly, frowned and jotted down his findings. "I'm getting tired, Kit. I can see it coming."

"Okay." Kristopher, finished his work and sat back it enjoy his late night dinner. Minerva merely stood there. Kristopher stopped, rethinking his approach, and decided to give Elphinstone whatever he wanted. "We'll set up the bedroom and make you as comfortable as possible. An anti-venom supply, and I'll knock you out whenever you want. I'll take time off when you feel like you're a two. A shaky two."

"Minerva." Elphinstone wanted verbal confirmation.

"Fine," she said stiffly, fighting an urge to tell Elphinstone he was giving up.

"You can't be fine," said Elphinstone and Kristopher together.

"Nothing about this is fine. You were supposed to …" Minerva had promised herself she wasn't going to go down this road. She'd gotten through the shock of the accident, accepted it, rejected it, and accepted it again. He was supposed to grow old and die sometime in the distant future. Three years seemed like a cruel jape! Why had she chased after a man she couldn't have in Caithness? Kristopher, torn, reminded her of a puppy, for he had a young wife and a life ahead of him. Exhausted and spent, emotionally and physically drained, she dropped her hand. "Whatever you want, Elphinstone."

"Auntie," Kristopher hesitated.

"Don't. Damn it." Minerva hated the tears. She'd not let anything slip through this hell, and she snapped. She left the cottage. Kristopher followed her. "Please leave me alone."

"No." Kristopher marched beside her. "You are practically my mother. Second mother. You demanded I get my shit together … stuff together, and you and Grandfather helped me along. You're still helping me. I'm here for you."

"I don't need you, Kit."

"Everyone needs someone," he said softly.

Kristopher wrapped her in a tight embrace and held her in the middle of High Street. Minerva laid her head on his shoulder, not caring when passersby gave them looks because she couldn't see them through her blinding tears. Kristopher shushed her, patting her head. He said things, comforting things, yet she resisted none of it. Minerva had no idea when Kristopher took on this role as her friend, yet she knew he'd stay with her.

"I meant 'stuff'," he clarified, making his intentions perfectly clear.

She took a few deep breaths, half-expecting a hobbling Elphinstone to come down the street. But he was in the cottage. She asked Kristopher to stay. They still had time. She had no idea what tomorrow or the next day had in store, and there were surely bad days ahead, but she could handle it.

"Want to go for a drink at the Three Broomsticks?" Kristopher stuffed his hands in his pockets and stood his ground.

"You don't feel strange asking your aunt this question?" Minerva smiled, looping her arm through his and continuing on the way. Kristopher shook his head. He chose a booth and ordered a dark stout for himself and a gillywater for her. "Thank you."

Kristopher drummed his fingers on the table. He seemed on the point of saying something, rethought it, and moved on. "Uncle Elphinstone's playing down his pain."

Minerva nodded.

"Here's the thing, Auntie," he said delicately, "and you're letting him. You are hurting him."

Minerva's first reaction was to deny she did such a thing. She held her tongue with difficulty and waited a while before she said anything. The barmaid served them food and came back with another round before Minerva said anything. "I met him when I was eighteen. "Do you have any idea what's it's like to sit here and watch him waste away?"

"I know," said Kristopher. He rephrased, catching her look. "I can't imagine…"

"You know? Kit, you forget I helped raise you," said Minerva interrupting him. She felt angry with the world. She passed a hand over her face and laid her other hand over his. "It's not you, Kit, I … none of this fair. And I love him so much it hurts to see him writhing in pain."

"I feel the same way about Poppy." Kristopher cupped his tankard in his hands.

"So responsible. We thought for the longest time you'd follow your father's path. What in the world happened to you?"

"I grew up." Kristopher shrugged, not really knowing the correct answer. He traced the water stains from the years of tankards and mugs being on the table. He lowered his voice, acting like a child sharing a secret and running a hand through his locks. "She's pregnant."

"Really?" Minerva's frown disappeared. She'd been so preoccupied with her own problems she hadn't noticed the matron.

"Really, really." Kristopher grinned like a schoolboy. "I'm so relieved to finally tell someone. She's all hush, hush. Don't make a big thing out of it. I think it's a girl. Of course, Poppy keeps insisting there is no spell or potion to prove that. We're calling her Jessamine."

"Oh, Kristopher. That's beautiful." Minerva smiled at him.

"I was up at Hogwarts and Poppy said, 'She stopped by, and I tried to say something …'. She's weird. Anyway, I haven't told Grandfather, and I'm pretty sure Albus Dumbledore suspects something because he asked Poppy if she wanted to discuss anything."

Minerva set her problems aside for the moment and squeezed his hand. Great Aunt. I feel old. You have to tell Grandfather because he'll probably cry. You're having a baby."

"Yeah. She's wearing this apron, which is really cute, but it makes it obvious. I think we're going to start looking around here. Maybe Hogsmeade." Kristopher stayed non-committal about about this. He worked in London, practically lived at the hospital, and he could travel easily to and from work because it wasn't that much of a stretch for Apparition. "I told Poppy I was staying with you."

"You're invited anytime," she said warmly. She threw in the caveat, even though Kristopher had shed the skin of a late night party animal. "You keep the company of two old people, and the older old person is frail, but he will throw you out."

"Uncle Elphinstone." Kristopher shook his head. "He did say he'd throw me out on my ass if I made the wrong move. His words. Not mine."

"When was this?" Minerva tried Kristopher's stout, decided she didn't like it, and handed it back.

"On Christmas Day last year. I think you were at the feast up at the school? I dunno. It was funny. I got up, and he did this." Kristopher rose to his feet slowly, imitating Elphinstone's slow build intimidation. "And then he switched to Gaelic, and I sat my behind back down. Yes, I did."

Minerva raised her eyebrows. "You should've seen him in court."

"Oh, no thank you, although I am looking forward to seeing Malfoy … he has no idea what's coming, does he?" Kristopher paid the tab and waved to the barmaid, showing her he stowed his money away. Minerva shook her head. Kristopher got to his feet, rubbing his hands together. "Oh, he's gonna get his ass kicked. Nobody plays with you."

When they returned to the cottage shortly after the old drunken crowd started trickling into the Three Broomsticks, Elphinstone opened the door his hand on the wall as a guide. Without hesitating, for she didn't usually show any signs of public affection, Minerva leaned in and kissed him. It was soft and slow, like they'd do this for the rest of their lives. Kristopher smiled. Elphinstone tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind Minerva's ear, and Minerva hugged him, half supporting him as she held him, and she noted she could wrap her arms around his frail frame. Reminded of home being at the hearth, Minerva took in a familiar scent, tobacco and Old Spice, and she whispered three words into Elphinstone's ear.


	4. Chocolate

Remus couldn't help it. He got bored lying in the bed in the hospital wing as rain pounded the windows. A Gryffindor scarf lay in a wooden chair, and she'd taken special care with his schoolbag. The prefect badge got pinned to the scarf, and maybe he read into this, yet he wondered why she cared. After staying in the Shrieking Shack for three nights, Remus always agreed to certain rules and stayed overnight as the moon shifted phase.

Madam Pomfrey got hired on the same year Remus came to school. She'd practically signed her life away as both Professor Dumbledore and Remus's father put it; she hadn't made an Unbreakable Vow, but the way they described it, she might as well have done. Blonde haired and blue eyed, Poppy Pomfrey shed light on these transformations. Well, there were the nights out will the boys, and those were always fun, yet she awakened something within him.

Remus didn't choose not to date because he was a good Catholic boy. Whenever Madam Pomfrey touched his shoulder or showed him kindness, he daydreamed about her and got lost in a fantasy. Remus's father had already told him he'd probably never marry. In the middle of March, Remus lay alone in the hospital bed and contemplating finishing his Switching Spells essay for Professor McGonagall. Dumbledore cut him no slack, and Professor McGonagall wasn't in the inner circle of people who were in the know, so Remus forever played a game of catch up. Unbeknownst to anyone else, Sirius, Peter, and James rushed up to the dormitory before the matron came to collect Remus in the early morning hours.

She'd changed. Remus didn't really notice her until last year. Why would she call herself Madam at twenty-four? Since February, her body got fuller and Remus held onto a sneaking suspicion he wasn't the only one who addressed her bosom whenever she addressed male students. She was pregnant, expecting a baby in early summer, but she didn't really talk about it. She wore those simple black dresses and faded into the background, careful to keep the crispness of her white apron.

He woke up around seven on Saturday morning. Someone cried out and distracted him. As he approached Madam Promfrey's quarters, going past her office, he heard laughter and softball voices. Their breathing sped up, and Remus closed his eyes, imagining holding the matron in his arms. Whoever stayed the night was a very lucky man indeed. Remus dashed back to bed and enjoyed another pain in his trousers having nothing to do with his recent transformations.

Pretending to sleep, Remus stayed stock still, for she knew Remus slept with his eyes open, and counted the ceiling tiles. As his mother put it, the baby carriage came before the marriage, and some people shared love in their bubble of happiness. He jerked his head and zeroed in on the band on her finger.

"You can't stay here," said Madam Pomfrey, letting her friend tie her white apron. She wrapped her hair with a quick hand and punched him in the arm for his cheek. "All right. You can't stay here again, Kristopher."

"Oh, sweet Poppy," said Kristopher. He stroked her cheek and nodded at Remus. "What's wrong with that kid?"

Kid? Remus was fifteen, thank you very much! He might not have this bloke's wavy dark locks nor his dark blue eyes, but he worked in the summertime and added to his mother's Building Society savings. When his mother actually had fallen ill, Remus felt like the boy who called wolf. (No pun intended, especially since he's reportedly actually done this as a child.) His father had wiped the werewolf encounter from his mind, but Remus would pay for that stupid mistake for the rest of his life.

"Nothing. What's wrong with you?" Madam Promfrey punched him again.

A laugh escaped Remus's lips, and she bustled over. The man pulled his curly locks back into a tight ponytail. He wore jeans and a St. Mungo's fundraiser t-shirt as he passed for a walking advertisement: Let the light shine in! Madam Pomfrey took Remus's pulse and put a hand to his forehead.

"You're clammy. I'll bet it's the flu." Madam Pomfrey conjured a glass thermometer and stuck it in Remus's mouth. As a condition on letting her in on the know on the lycanthropy clinical trial, the matron owned him three days out of the month.

Remus sighed when the thermometer beeped. He shook it, for he'd learned tricks in and out of hospitals wherever his father dragged him in his desperate search for answers. Remus read the results, and Kristopher grinned. See? Barely a fuss. I'll drink orange juice."

"Remus, do you want Hippocrates Smethwyck pecking me with owls because I let his boy get ill? No. You're spending the weekend here." Madam Pomfrey pressed him down into the bed. "Say something."

"But it's Quidditch," said Remus, pointing at the rattling windows as the rain poured down. "Come on, Madam."

"No. I don't know why anyone would play sport in this downpour." Madam Pomfrey tossed the thermometer away and it disintegrated into ash.

"Auntie thinks it's perfectly all right," said Kristopher. He helped himself to Remus's chart, flipping through the papers. "Lycanthropy? You know Abbey and Hippo? Oh, yeah, I see he signs off on everything."

"Kristopher. Keep your hands off what's not yours." Muttering about patient healer confidentially, she updated the chart and went to lock it up in her office.

"Auntie?" Despite the fact this man stole Remus's woman, curiosity got the best of him and won out in the end. And he found he liked the bloke.

"Kristopher McGonagall. Call me Kit." Kit offered him a hand and pointed at the Gryffindor scarf. "Your stick in the mud Head of House? She's my aunt. And don't call her that. Ever. It's Kristopher with a K."

Remus smiled. "Hey, Kit. Are you ill?"

"I can't afford to get ill, and it never bodes well when I'm down for the count." Kit turned around when Madam Pomfrey sighed. She walked back into the ward and tapped the face of her watch impatiently. "Seriously? Are you afraid people are going to talk, Sister Poppy?"

Remus snickered. "You do look like a nun."

"Auntie Minerva knows, which means my grandfather knows, and if the reverend knows, what's the point?" Kit sighed dejectedly when Madam Pomfrey kicked him out. "Okay. But remember I outrank you."

"At the hospital perhaps," she said, shoving him away. "I'm better than half the Healers at St. Mungo's. It's the matrons who know the story. Kit."

"Kit! Kit, Kristopher, no!" Kit imitated the matron's voice flawlessly.

"If you're going to hang around, you might as well be useful. Strip the beds and clean the bedpans." Madam Pomfrey handed him a stack of fresh linens. "Who outranks who in here?"

"Whatever Poppy says goes."

"Good answer," said the matron..

Kit got to work and chatted with Remus. He raised his wand lazily after stripping off the dirty sheets and the beds made themselves. Madam Pomfrey bustled about, and the house-elves, sworn to secrecy, bought in two laden trays. Remus ate ravenously. Madam Promfrey always snuck off to the kitchens when the cycle ended and had food delivered.

"You. Eat. All of it." Kit unwrapped the matron's silverware and handed it to her. Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes, but she sat on a bed nonetheless. "You're worse than Muriel Prewett. I've got the boy. If you get ill, then she gets ill, and this whole place goes to hell."

"It's not a she," said Madam Promfrey, taking a bottle out of her pocket and applying hand sanitizer.

"I've got the prefect," said Kit. He went back over to Remus, mended his clavicle, a few broken ribs and checked for a cracked skull. "Ouch, Remus, you need a restraining order against yourself. Look at these cuts."

"Hydrogen peroxide. No Quidditch." Madam Pomfrey brandished her fork in Remus's direction. She snuck back into her quarters, found some black olives, and mixed these into her scrambled eggs. Kit."

"Yes?" Kit bandaged Remus's head and admired his handiwork.

"I'm out of cream cheese and olives," she sighed.

"Cream cheese and olives, heard," recited Kit, feeding her words back to her. Remus recognized this as proper acknowledgement protocol at the hospital. "Can't you steal from the kitchens?"

"Okay, okay, can I go now?" Thinking James could check the stores in the kitchens without a fuss, Remus checked his pulse and walked in a straight line as he reeled off his vitals. Kit gave him a fist bump. Smiling, swinging his feet over the side of the bed, Remus adopted a lofty voice, too. He switched to third person, hopefully bringing Hippocrates to mind. "He's stable, and he's vitals are in good range. Why fix something that isn't broken? Remus is doing well."

Kit, impressed by the gall of this argument, gave a low whistle. Remus spotted his angle and took this to his advantage. He put his hands together, not below pleading. "Awww, let him attend the match, Poppy, I'll be there if things take a turn because I'm watching it with my aunt before a late lunch with friends. He just pulled a Hippocrates."

"Healer Smethwyck doesn't scare me," said Madam Pomfrey.

"Yeah. But it's Saturday." Kit winked at Remus, telling him he had this thing in the bag. Remus didn't know Kristopher from Adam, but he gave it a shot. "How's about this? Remus watches the match, and he comes back to the ward and he'll sit there like a statue. No overexertion whatsoever, especially given we just mended his skull. I will babysit."

Madam Pomfrey considered this. "No running away after the match, Mr. Lupin, so don't you and your friends try one of your schemes because you won't pull one over on me. No parties."

Remus shook on it. He went off to the showers, came back in comfortable clothes, and pulled on his scarf. Kit went to fetch his coat, an expensive thing that cost a pretty Galleon, and helped Remus pull it on. It hung around Remus's frame.

"Suave," said Remus, feeling the fabric.

"Right? My grandpa always tells me to dress to impress. It's a Fraser Mackintosh." Kit chased him down the Grand Staircase, wrapped a Hufflepuff scarf around his neck after he conjured it, and steered him outside.

"Not a Gryffindor?"

"Me? No. I'm afraid this where I leave you, Mr. Lupin, because we will be on opposing sides." Kit thundered up the stands and dashed towards the Teachers Box to chat with Professor McGonagall.

For a split second, Remus thought about staying put and following the terms and conditions of his temporary release. But Sirius found him and easily swayed him over to joining friends in the stands. After all, Remus thought as he spotted Kit embracing his aunt, Professor McGonagall's nephew probably got ditched all the time when he was in school. Remus draped his arms over his friends' shoulders and got lost in the crowd.

"You try my patience," said Madam Pomfrey, snatching him by the arm as they headed towards the castle. Remus had started heading towards the Gryffindor common room, but she grabbed him by the ear when Remus attempted to dodge her a second time. She let go almost immediately.

"I asked you to stay, Remus," said Kit, marching them back towards the hospital wing. He didn't seem as quick to anger as Professor McGonagall, but he got his point across anyway. "Don't you realize Hippocrates can yank you from this clinical trial as quickly as he placed you there?"

"He created the trial with me in mind," said Remus. He didn't think Hippocrates would jump to such a conclusion over Remus spending time with his friends. There was absolutely nothing to back this up, except Hippocrates treated him like family.

"Everyone involved in hiding you doesn't matter as long as you get an afternoon out with friends. Is that it, Remus?" Madam Pomfrey rounded on him the moment they entered the hospital wing. She counted off the list on her fingers, raging at him. "Your father, your mother, Mr. Belby, Abbey, Hippocrates … Kit … Professor Dumbledore! A fine way to repay him! Do you have any idea what happens the second this all comes crashing down? Do you even care?"

Kit held up four fingers. "This many people lose their healing licenses, and you've got two families, including a pregnant woman, out on the street. Think of it like building a house with Exploding Snap cards."

"I didn't mean …" Remus's voice caught in his throat as he watched Madam Pomfrey pace back and forth, and he focused on her feet. He was a kid. Everyone else got to do whatever they wanted on the weekends, and he had to deal with the increased workload and sharing prefect duties with chatty Mary. The matron actually rubbed her hands so much Remus imagined her rubbing them raw. "I'm sorry."

"You're not a child, Remus, or you cannot think as a child. You agreed, you signed a magically binding contract with your father and mother, and I can go to jail. Look at me!" Madam Pomfrey jarred Remus so badly he backed into a stretcher leaning against a wall.

"Poppy," said Kit warningly.

"I would lay down my life for you, Remus," she said, falling to her knees in front of him. Remus wanted to tell her to get up, but he had trouble finding his voice. "But this is so much better than you. If Belby gets the Wolfsbane Potion in the game, that changes everything. Maybe not right away, but you … you have an opportunity to do something extraordinary. It's hard. I know. Stay the course, my friend, and hang in there."

"Oh, my God. He's going to kill me when he hears …" Remus's face paled. "Please don't tell Hippocrates and Abbey."

"Tell them what?" Madam Pomfrey held out a hand and Remus heaved her to her feet. She wiped her eyes and went to fetch a large bar of Honeyduke's best chocolate. "This never happened. Happy belated birthday."

Kit perched himself on a bed and clapped his hands together. "Right. Who's going to tell Abbey Kit's in on the secret?"

Abbey, a renowned lycanthropic specialist, might be a tiny thing, but she held a lot of power. It helped, Remus guessed, when you were married to the Healer-in-Charge of the Dai Llwellyn ward. It took Remus's father ages to seek a helping hand as he searched for a cure, and it took him a long time to warm up to the Smethwycks. If Professor McGonagall got angry, she was nothing compared to Abbey and her werewolves.

"Yeah, I'm not throwing you a save," said Madam Pomfrey.

"I'll do it," says Remus quietly. If he got with nothing more than a slap on the wrist, although technically nothing had happened, Remus would make his next appointment at St. Mungo's interesting.

"You're all right, Mr. Lupin." Taking the chocolate bar when Remus sat beside him, Kit slapped it on the edge of a bedside cabinet and made Madam Pomfrey jump. Kit opened it with his teeth and handed it to Remus. He rolled his eyes when Remus acted hesitant. "You're an escape artist, and we're going to let it slide."

Remus pointed towards the matron's quarters. "You broke the rules, too."

"What?" Poppy Pomfrey flushed with color as she patted her hair. Kit muttered incoherently. "Eat your chocolate."

"What're we going to do when the baby comes?" Kit gestured Remus. "You're gonna work till you drop because you're you, but what happens when something goes wrong?"

"It'll come in June," she said decisively, pulling up a chair and resting her feet on Kit's bed.

"She'll come when she comes," said Kit evenly. Madam Pomfrey shrugged. Kit passed a hand over his haggard face. "You're gonna wanna kill these kids who are freaking out about their O.W.L's and N.E.W.T's. I can see it now."

"I'll deal with it," she said. She turned towards Remus. "This is the one time I will let things slide with you. If you put one toe out of line, I'm writing your father and you will get one hell of a Howler from Healer Smethwyck. I am on your side, but I've got other stuff going on. Not your momma."

"Understood." Remus folded the paper over the rest the chocolate bar and stowed it away.

The matron let him leave after he gathered his things. Remus darted out into the corridor, made it halfway to Gryffindor Tower, and swung his bag over his shoulder. Ignoring Peter, who shouted at him with his hands cupped over his mouth, Remus went back the way he came, signaling at Peter to wait.

When he got back on the ward, Remus wrapped his arms around her neck, hugging her from behind, telling her not to get up, and offered her the chocolate. Kristopher gave him a high five. Madam Pomfrey smiled, patted him on the neck, and tore off a particularly large piece.


End file.
